Fading
by crestah
Summary: "And he realizes that she's fading—fading into nothingness, into nonexistence, into a blank vacuum where she would stay, utterly lost and entirely hopeless—fading from him forever. And all he can think about is that what's left of the girl he loves is a mere empty shell." Annie and Finnick's story, starting with Annie's reaping and ending after Mockingjay.
1. Falling

**A/N: **This is my first fanfic, so please don't judge so harshly, I have no idea if it's good or not (probably the latter). Hopefully I actually finish this. Oh and by the way, my writing style usually isn't like this, but it seems appropriate for this story somehow. Thanks to anyone who actually reads this, and feedback for my first attempt at fanfiction writing would be amazing! :)

**Disclaimer: **Strangely enough, I do not have the copyrights of The Hunger Games, though I wish I did.

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**Chapter One: Falling**

Eleven letters. Four syllables.

One name, out of thousands of slips.

That's all it takes, and he's falling. Falling into a pitch black abyss of nothingness. He falls and he falls and he doesn't seem to stop. He feels numbness swallow him whole, envelop him on all sides.

Through the dream-like haze, he watches her approach the stage.

Head held high, but he can see that she's an earthquake, her body trembling, her breath quivering.

He has the vague awareness of a warm hand—perhaps Mag's—upon his shoulder. All he can think of is how much he hates her sympathy. Loathes her pity.

Suddenly, she looks up, eyes wildly searching the crowd.

And then their eyes meet, the ocean with the forest, and the terrified fear in her look is enough to wake him from his frozen dream. He feels anger replace numbness instead, surging and rippling, a hurricane roaring inside his body.

He feels like screaming, or punching something, or maybe both.

For no matter what, the universe seems to be bent on keeping them apart.

He remembers the helplessness, the desperation, the fear that consumed him in the arena. He remembers hating himself more and more for every heart he stopped, for every life he ended. But he remembers seeing her pleading look, hearing her say, _Please come back to me_. Him saying, _I will._

He remembers being forced to wrap his arms around countless women's bodies every night, their Capitol accents rolling as they whisper, _So strong, so handsome, so beautiful, _and he remembers falling asleep and dreaming of another girl in his arms instead.

But all that would never be enough for the world. For he is the sun and she the moon, and for eternity they would chase each other around and around the earth, an obstacle of stars between them. That was the way it had been; it is the way now; and it is the way it will always be.

He feels stupid for even thinking that the odds could ever be in his favor.

For thinking that she would be safe.

With difficulty, he blinks back the tears that threaten to fall.


	2. Blurs

**A/N: **So as you may or may not have noticed, my chapters are relatively short. And also, I don't usually use italics for dialogue, but quotations just felt wrong for this story. As always, reviews are magical.

**Disclaimer:** Nope. I still don't own the Hunger Games. Gotta work on that.

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**Chapter Two: Blurs**

Annie feels herself moving in blurs, as if she's trapped in a movie set in fast forward.

She blurs to the reaping, where her heart pounds.

Onto the stage, where she trembles.

Into the Justice Building, where she waits and breathes and hopes that it is all a dream, that she would wake up and discover that she wasn't actually reaped at all, that it was the harmless name of a faceless stranger that was drawn out of the bowl. That she is safe from the dreadful imminence of death.

Even the reunion with her parents is a blur. A trace of her mother's floral scent and the warmth of her father's arms. A blur, and then they're gone as if they were never there at all, and she wants to scream, _Wait!_ but she cannot find her voice— cannot even summon the strength to cry.

Gone. Just like that. Never to be seen again.

Blurs and blurs of colors and shapes, of familiar faces and blank, vacant eyes.

And then a voice. A voice that stops it all.

Suddenly she's in his arms, the tears that she'd held back for so long streaming down her cheeks, and she's saying his name over and over again until it sounds like a whir of rhythm, familiar and warm. He's holding her so close that she could hear his heartbeat, _thump-thump, thump-thump,_ the rising and falling of his chest in symphony with hers, like the tides of the ocean.

_Annie, Annie, listen to me, _he's saying, but she cannot stop the blubbering that's pouring out of her mouth.

It's the warmth of his gentle hands on either side of her face, combined with the intensity of his ocean stare that finally quiets her down.

_We don't have much time, _he says. _Listen to me, Annie, I know you can do this. Whatever you do, don't stick around. As soon as the game starts, run. Run and find water, find shelter—_

_Finnick._

She's staring at him now, sorrow and resignation swimming in her dark green eyes, her front teeth biting down into the roses of her lip. Her tear-soaked eyelashes tremble.

_Finnick, we both know I'm not going to win._

A pause.

_Don't say that._ His eyes are scorching, intense. She cannot look away, cannot even open her mouth.

_Annie, you are going to make it. I'm going to help you. I'm going to keep you alive._

His voice is soft and steady, velvety, so lovely. _You're going to come back to me. You will come back to me. _His eyelids flutter closed, and then reopens. A glistening tear escapes from his eye, and Annie has a fleeting image of a raindrop sliding down a blurred window.

_Promise me, please._

She exhales, slowly. Knows that she would have to try, at least. Knows that if she dies, it would kill him, would shatter him to pieces. She knows. Knows that if she isn't going to do it for herself, she would have to do it for him. For Finnick.

_I promise, Finnick._

In a millisecond his lips are on hers, urgent and fierce, tasting of seawater and burning like fire, and she's floating, floating, flying up and up into the sky-

And then she's clutching onto thin air.

In alarm, she realizes he's already two feet away, struggling in the arms of two Peacekeepers who are saying that his time is up.

Desperately she reaches out for him, trying to cling to his outstretched hand.

_I love you, Annie,_ he's shouting, and she's saying it back, but then they drag him through and slam the door and she's left completely and utterly alone to stare at the blankness of the door, his name still on the tip of her tongue, tasting of sugar and lemons and seawater.

The blurs start again, as if they had never stopped at all.


	3. Time

**A/N: **If you give me a review, I'll give you free hugs and cookies. No, really.

**Disclaimer: ** People often ask me, "Are you the author of _The Hunger Games _books?" I'm kidding, if you didn't get that. They never do, because I'm not Suzanne Collins.

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**Chapter Three: Time**

Time has always been a constant for Annie, like a friend she could always rely on. It never changes. It's either day or night, dawn or dusk. It is either one or the other, and in the world of blurry lines she takes comfort in that one simple clarity of time, always so straightforward and honest.

But now, like all the other things she had before, it is lost to her.

She finds that day and night interwine, embrace, and collapse into each other. Sleep is limited, brightness is essential.

But Annie still believes that when you lose something, you gain something else—in some cases, something better.

In her blind optimism, she believes that this is the case.

The boy. Her fellow district tribute.

She finds that they are like peanut butter and jelly, thunder and lightning, salt and pepper. No one like Finnick, of course, but a friend, someone she connects with instantly. She knows they make a good team. Good allies.

Most of all, she finds comfort in his presence. He soothes her, makes her laugh, makes her forget she is in the Games at all—makes her forget her starvation, her exhaustion, her anxiety.

But she knows that time passes. She knows it ticks away every second wasted in her life, in rhythm to the beat of her pulse, aching and throbbing. She knows that in any second, she could be faced with a danger that could ultimately take her life, spontaneously and unpredictably.

She knows that even the slightest comfort doesn't last very long.

For time is constant, yet irregular; kind, yet cruel; unsurprising, yet unpredictable.

She thinks she's prepared for whatever comes next.

What she doesn't know is that she's never been more wrong about anything.


	4. Broken

**A/N:** Hugs and cookies to my first reviewer, yay! Thank you, really, it means a lot. :)

**Disclaimer: **If I owned the Hunger Games, I certainly wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfics...

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**Chapter Four: Broken**

There exists something in one's mind that holds everything together. It strings together your sanity, your mentality, your state of mind. It's the thing that keeps you sane, even in the darkest of times.

For some, it is tightly woven, unwavering and refusing to budge.

For others, it's fragile. Delicate and so easily breakable, that even the slightest gossamer touch can send it shattering into a million pieces.

And Finnick knows that in the Games, it's essential to keep your mind firmly together. You don't let anything get to you—a fight, an illness, a death. It's the first unwritten rule of the Hunger Games. Something drilled into the back of your mind.

But Finnick watches, as Annie forgets. He watches, as Annie breaks.

It happens in a second, in a blink of an eye.

A glistening sword blade slicing through the air in slow motion, sinking into the soft flesh of his neck. Ribbons of red gliding through the air, and then a piercing scream.

Annie's scream.

Finnick can do nothing. He can only watch the shock and anguish fill her eyes. He can only watch as they suddenly go blank, glazed and unseeing. He can only watch as she falls apart, right there and right there.

She breaks apart, shattering into something beyond repair, and there's nothing Finnick can do but watch helplessly.


	5. Running

**A/N: **So I realized yesterday that some of this may be confusing for those who aren't really familiar with Finnick and Annie's story that well...So here's basically what happened the last four chapters: Annie gets reaped into the 70th Hunger Games. Finnick, having been the victor of 65th Games, along with Mags (his former mentor), become the mentors for Annie. Annie becomes close friends and allies with her fellow district male tribute, only to be driven insane after watching his beheading. That's basically it...Review, review, review! Seriously, I will love you forever if you do. :)

**Disclaimer: **I like cake. On a completely unrelated note, I still don't own the Hunger Games.

**P.S.** My chapters are so short. It's bothering me so much. I should've combined two "chapters" into one from the start...Too late now...

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**Chapter Five: Running**

Feet pounding, heart thumping.

Annie runs and runs and she finds that she cannot stop. She feels numbness, like ice, surround her. She does not feel and cannot feel and she likes it that way.

She trips, stumbles, almost falls. Feels blood trickle down her legs. And still she keeps running.

For all she can see is the blade piercing his skin and the blood splurting out like paint, red blossoms decorated on the trees and the grass and on her skin.

Some people drink to escape. Others paint or read.

Annie runs.

She runs and runs and runs—feet pounding, heart thumping. Trees blur past her, their whispers taunting.

And even when she suddenly finds herself on the ground, she realizes that she doesn't stop running. She's running from the Games, away and away and away and she's never coming back. She hears Finnick's voice in her mind, pleading for her to stop.

She cannot answer.

She know's she's lost and broken and empty and beyond hope.

She just runs.

Feet pounding, heart thumping.


	6. Water

**A/N: **Reviews would be amazing and magical and spectacular and awesome and wonderful and incredible and much, much appreciated. ;)

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill.

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**Chapter Six: Water**

He remembers the day he first met Annie Cresta.

He remembers hearing her ear-piercing scream, seeing the ocean engulf her body. He remembers seeing her figure, kicking and thrashing and fighting against the strong tides. He remembers the coolness of the water as he instinctively dove in, sunshine and bubbles dancing in front of his eyes.

He remembers how she immediately calmed when she was safe in his arms, the wild fear disappearing from her green eyes, the rhythm of her heartbeat slowing down. He remembers her clinging to him, trusting him.

Later, he'd insisted on teaching her how to swim.

To his surprise, she'd agreed.

And so, he'd taught her. Every afternoon they'd meet in front of the faded, old lighthouse and he'd take her hand and guide her into the water, where she shivered and trembled but stayed. He'd loved watching the determination overpower the fear in the forests of her eyes. Loved the amount of fight she had in her, so unforeseen by first impression.

After, she would often brag to him, _The best in the whole of Panem._

And he would scoff and roll his eyes, but he would say back, _The best in the whole of Panem._

He remembers this now, a fleeting memory in his mind, just as the dam breaks.

Water.

Pouring out of nowhere and flowing everywhere. There is no horrific, bloody showdown. Just water and only water, crushing down on her still figure and enveloping her in a cold, distant blue.

He has a strange sense of déjà vu, but not quite. It takes him a while to notice the difference.

She's not fighting.

She's not struggling or kicking or thrashing—she's utterly still, blankly watching, letting the water vanish her into nonexistence.

She has no fight in her left anymore.

He's finally realizing that she'd completely given up, and he's making a noise that he isn't even sure he is capable of making and Mags is squeezing his hand and he's crying and he's pleading, _Please Annie, please, please, _and all this time he's hearing her say, _The best in the whole of Panem,_ over and over inside his head until it sounds like a broken record, and all he can think of is how this time, he can't be there to save her.

The water remains still and motionless.


	7. Sinking

**A/N: **I keep saying this; it's probably getting annoying. But review! Please :)

**Disclaimer: **blahblahblah.

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**Chapter Seven: Sinking**

Annie is sinking.

But she does not kick, or thrash, or struggle. The cold blanket envelops her, suffocates her, and yet she stays limp; she does not, and cannot, summon her strength to fight, or even the reason to.

She's floating in a beautiful shade of blue, a blue that paints itself in the canvas of the sky, a blue that reminds her of a hopeful kind of sorrow. It is the kind of blue that appears only in dreams, and she feels oddly at peace in the utterly silent world.

She thinks, perhaps the endless vacuum would provide her the bliss she'd waited so long for. The oblivion she feels she deserves.

The world around her starts to fade and drift away.

She almost lets go.

But at the last second, in the back of her mind, Annie hears him. His voice soft and pleading, like a drizzle against the pavement on a Sunday morning.

_Promise me, please._

His eyes, so intense, so ocean blue. Pleading. Begging.

_I promise, Finnick. _

Her body trembles, her lungs blaze. It's too late, she's thinking, but then she has the fleeting image of his face, frantic and desperate; his hands, outstretched toward her, reaching, reaching; his lips, shouting the words _I love you, Annie._

She remembers her anguish, watching him suffer in the Games, remembering his promise that he'd come back to her, _I will, I will._

She remembers flying into his arms upon his return home, memorizing the sound of his thudding heartbeat through his chest, swearing she would never lose him again.

He'd kept his promise.

And now it was her turn.

It takes her every ounce of her strength, every bit of her last remaining power. But she does it. She kicks and flails and struggles and fights.

_I promise, Finnick._

Her lungs are on fire, her legs sore.

_I promise, Finnick._

Above, she watches the sunlight shimmer.

_I promise, Finnick._

Then her head breaks the surface, and she's gasping for air, and she can't tell if it's tears or just water that's streaming down her face, tasting of salt and bitterness and love.

The very last thing she is aware of is the sound of the trumpets blaring, and then everything fades to black.


	8. Helpless

**A/N: **Alksdjfljs HI GUYS! I'm SO SO sorry that I've been MIA for like a month, I have good excuses, I swear. Okay well for three weeks I went to like a camp thing at Northwestern University to take a Creative Writing class, and I was so busy with homework and all the activities. And well, I guess I don't have an excuse for the other one week, I was just really lazy, haha. But to make it up to you, this chapter is longer than usual (kinda)! I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up but I'll TRY to write it quickly. As always, reviews are magical and cupcakes and unicorns and sparkles and all the other happy things. :)

**Disclaimer:** During the last month I still haven't gotten even CLOSE to getting ownership of the Hunger Games! Weird, huh?

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Finnick feels as if he's in a dream.

As if he's trapped in a soundproof box and the only thing he can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat thumping wildly against his chest, pounding in his ears. The sound of his exhales shooting through the cracks of his lips and letting loose into the lightness of air—quick, short gasps that shake his body with fear.

He'd seen her eyes, as her head had emerged from the rippled waters, seen that determined spark of light he'd seen when he had first met her, and his heart had leaped, but then a split second later it was gone.

Gone, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Her eyes had been dead again. Empty. Vacant. Faded.

And for the first time in his life, he dreads seeing Annie.

All this time he had longed to hold her in his arms again, wished to feel the warmth of her skin once more, craved the sweetness of her lips on his. But now, as Mags is pulling him along, he feels a sinking, twisting dread at the pit of his stomach he'd never felt before in his life.

Because the truth is, Finnick is afraid.

Afraid of what he might find.

Or rather, what he might not.

And then before he's even realized it, he's there and she's there and then their bodies are suddenly pressed fiercely against each other and she doesn't stop crying and he starts crying and he's pleading with her, saying _I love you, please stay, come back, I'm here, it's okay, stay with me, _and the words are pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall but her eyes are still empty and she's hurting and he's trying to fight off her hurt but he's so utterly helpless against it.

So utterly helpless.

Helpless against her anguish, the anguish that's seeping through the holes in her heart and pouring out in the form of bittersweet words through her mouth.

Helpless against her hopelessness, the tremors in her body and the emptiness of her eyes, once the color of a sparkling emerald but now a cold, distant gray. The color of an old photograph, discolored and faded and long forgotten in a dusty drawer of an attic.

He can do nothing but hold her tightly against him, her body against his body, her heart against his heart, until they become one—and they stay like that, their bodies a trembling earthquake—their tears gliding through the plains of their cheeks and then dripping like a Sunday morning drizzle onto the ground, where they collide and intertwine into a single stream of salty sorrow.


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